


The Next Logical Step

by orphan_account



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Drabble, F/M, Harry pov, Sexual Content, love at second sight
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-07
Updated: 2021-01-07
Packaged: 2021-03-18 14:16:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 845
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28619412
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Harry doesn't want to be at a gala, until he sees Luna...
Relationships: Luna Lovegood/Harry Potter
Comments: 39
Kudos: 42
Collections: Love at Second Sight





	The Next Logical Step

**Author's Note:**

> Such thanks to QuinTalon for the fest, and invitation to join! You are such a thoughtful and creative friend, and I'm thankful for you! Thanks to Frumpologist for the pairing suggestion and to NuclearNik for your BRILLIANT beta work!! I appreciate you all more than words can express! 
> 
> All remaining errors are my own, and no copyright infringement intended in the writing of this fluffy Harry nonsense.

* * *

Harry clears his throat and struggles with the bowtie of his dress robes again. He hopes Hermione hasn’t seen him. She’ll only note that’s now the fifth time he’s done so, and the “entertainment” hasn’t even started yet… A surreptitious glance about the room as he ambles to his seat lets him know he’s safe. Hermione’s wholly unaware of him, as her husband is angled towards her, leaning close and whispering something in her ear that makes her giggle. 

_Ugh._

The problem is not that Hermione’s married to Draco (yes, Malfoy is Draco, because they’re no longer petulant children). It’s not even that they’re young and in love and so devoted in their affection. 

Harry’s lonely. He admits it. He’s lonely and dating is rubbish, and there’s only so many weekends he can play Quidditch, or volunteer to assist with experiments at the joke shop, and—

A shock of navy and pale blonde hair floods his vision. 

And. 

Time.

Stops. 

He thinks his jaw drops, but he can’t be sure right now, and he isn’t certain of anything at the moment. 

Because that’s Luna. 

_Luna_. 

Less than ten feet from him. One row up and three or four seats from him. 

It’s Luna. 

Only... it doesn’t seem possible that it is. 

Because he remembers his friend Luna Lovegood… Not this vision, this _goddess_ , in front of him now. 

Her hair spills down her back in simple curls, and she’s beaming as she’s talking with… Fuck, he doesn’t even know who the blokes are around her. Harry thinks they look like gits. Old, leering gits. Probably all idiots, too. Foul, leering, idiot gits who can’t appreciate the genius of the witch currently gracing them with her presence. 

Luna suddenly turns and catches his eye. Smiles sweetly. 

Broadly. 

Harry doesn’t know what in the name of Merlin he could possibly say—

The lights dim, and someone comes to the podium. The so-called entertainment (read: pompous, self-proclaimed instrumental art) is to begin after this enthusiastic wanker concludes his endless spectacle of gratitude. Harry curses under his breath as he’s forced to sit and Luna is mostly hidden from view. 

Mostly. 

Not entirely. 

Not if he leans forward _just so_. Not if he asks to swap seats with the person he doesn’t recall on his right.

 _Blaise_. 

That’s right. 

He’s here with an extra ticket from Blaise because of something Hermione said. 

Whatever. It’s immaterial now. 

All that matters is Luna is here and beautiful, and he needs to find a way to talk to her after this night is over. 

He plots and plans as the night goes on.

He wipes his hands over his legs so often that Blaise conjures a handkerchief for him, giving Harry a pointed look as he proffers it. Harry accepts, flushing and far from calm, because he’s not even close to coming up with conversational lines that sound enticing enough to elicit a coffee or future lunch date. 

In other words, Harry is a hopeless wreck by the end of the night, and he’s no closer to an actual plan than he was at the beginning of the performance… 

It should come as no surprise to Harry that Luna is the one who comes up to him when it’s all over and everyone takes to mingling and nattering about. It shouldn’t catch him off guard when she laces her fingers through his and asks if he’d like to step outside for some fresh air with her. It’s _Luna_ , and he thinks nothing about her should surprise him anymore. 

Except that it does. 

_She_ does. 

And the door doesn’t even close behind Harry before his mind explodes in the soft but firm touch of lips against his. She’s kissing him. Snogging him senseless, actually. Breaking this passionate frenzy of lips and hands to tell him the wizards she sat with were obscure relatives. Harry’s mind doesn’t question beyond that point of clarification. 

At some point in the night, long after they’ve Apparated back to his flat, and their clothes make a littered trail to his bedroom, Harry finds it in himself to ask what made her kiss him tonight.

Why now, after all the time in school, and then all the time of _not_ seeing each other?

She’s so matter-of-fact in her answer. 

“You’d already spent the entire performance staring at me. I wore the blue dress because it’s the one I like best, and I hoped you’d notice it. Hermione had already taken the liberty of informing me you weren’t seeing anyone. Kissing you seemed the next logical step.” 

Harry doesn’t question the logic. Doesn’t even laugh, though one bubbles up inside him. A joyful laugh at Luna, life, timing, and her unfailing logic. Everything is a hazy fog the duration of the night, as Harry takes his time following _his_ logical (read: biological) senses, teasing and coaxing every pleasurable sound imaginable from Luna. He’ll make her a splendid breakfast in the morning, and ask her how starting on forever sounds while he’s at it… 

Following the next logical step, after all. 


End file.
